Donald Despairs
by A Vague Shape In The Dark
Summary: Mr. O'Connor plays the piano, Walter bakes and the two discuss the sound of green captured in a music box.


~o~o~O~o~o~

* * *

Donald O'Connor withdrew to the absinthes of his living room.

Sinking to the chair beside his piano, one hand on his brow the other dusting keys; he without thought conveyed melody as sun seeped through the thin black curtains to his side, warming all but him.

His mood was bleak, and he felt the energy leaving his body. He further touched the keys, the music fit.

"How did you know?" He heard Walter softly ask. Silencing the piano, Donald looked to where the other man stood in the entryway of the kitchen.

"Know what, Walter?"

Walter reached into his apron pocket and withdrew a small box wrapped in brown paper. Hands shaking slightly, memories of St Claire's forever haunting him, he placed the bundled square in Donald's palm.

Smiling, Donald looked to the box then to Walter. He wished to protest being given a gift but upon seeing the sadness in Walter's eyes, tore at the paper; revealing within the shelter of musty parchment a tiny music box.

"I thought of you when I saw it on the shelf in a pawn shop. Something about it, I-I don't know what, seemed like you."

Donald whispered his thanks before he wound the tiny arm, placing the box on the piano once finished. _Greensleeves_ escaped, as if from an unknown source in darkness. Both listened in silence until the oven timer chimed and sent Walter running into the warmth of the room beyond.

* * *

Walking back into the living area, Walter carried with him a butter knife, saucer and a pie pan, towel beneath. Taking a seat, he placed the pan on the coffee table and sliced through the pie, sliding one-quarter of it onto the saucer which he handed to Donald; whose mind was elsewhere.

"It has just occurred to me that the song is of the color green. A manifestation made available for a sensory factor other than the eyes."

"Well," Walter chuckled, "it _is _called Greensleeves."

"The title is of little importance. It is strictly the rhythm that evokes within the mind the color of the room surrounding us."

"Then I suppose that is why I thought of you when I happened upon it. You are so fond of Paris Green," said he. "The last abstract image I can recall seeing while listening to music - excluding times when I was using LCD - was grey static, the stuff you see on the interweb in videos that are not of the highest quality. At least that is what I think I saw when listening to the background of this Gaga woman. You know, I assumed you knew already what I'd bought for you when you began to play the tune on the piano."

"I didn't even realize what I was playing."

"Ah-ha-ha! Then perhaps there is a bit of Observer left in you yet," Walter said, mouth full.

Donald did not find humor in Dr. Bishop's muffled words. His gaze left the other man and sought instead his own weathered hands and the saucer within them.

"Donald, it's fine to talk," Walter offered, putting a hand on Donald's shoulder. "I can tell you are not yourself."

"Myself?" Donald repeated, miserably.

"You seem depressed."

Donald looked to the floor. "I cannot explain what exactly it is that I am feeling. Before, I never knew that emotions can make life almost unbearable... and for no reason at all. Sometimes I don't even feel like getting out of bed. It's so cold. So lonely."

"It's probably the weather. Seasonal depression," mumbled Walter as he looked to the snow falling outside the window. "I know of several medications and homeopathic remedies. We'll find something..."

Donald's gaze was on the snow. Sighing he gripped the armrest.

Walter turned, his face suddenly changed, beaming. "I know! I-I saw in TV Guide that _Cabaret_ is on tonight. Liza Minnelli, Joel Grey... _Bye-bye mein lieber herr._ OH. I'll make a casserole. You have plenty of cheese, correct? Feta, Cheddar, Mozzarella... Yes. Yes. Let's get started." Walter clapped his hands as he leapt from the chair.

Donald made to follow him. "Thank you, Walter, for staying."

Nodding, Walter smiled again.

* * *

~o~o~O~o~o~


End file.
